Just a Small Town Girl.

A little somethin' somethin' less articulate...

I hate my hometown. It’s small, suffocating, and ridiculously boring. The tallest building is a the Double Tree Hotel and I believe it’s only fourteen stories. Our downtown is identified by this one tall hotel building, numbered & lettered one-way streets, the popular movie theater accompanied by the one real parking structure in town, and an arch that lights up at night with the phrase “Modesto, Water Wealth Contentment Health.” There are now a total of six high schools, one junior college, two bowling alleys, two movie theaters, one two-story mall, and one freeway. While there remains to be a growing plethora of restaurants that’s about it when it comes to entertainment. Although they have recently finished building an “arts center” the small town of Modesto, California leaves much to be desired, for young people especially.
What do you do when you have nothing to do? Everything you’re told not to. One can have a great time doing everything you’re not supposed. One can also simultaneously work their ass of to get themselves into a good university. So I did.
And I left the place of no traffic where the number of orchards and dairies easily overwhelm the number of ATMs, and I moved south to the city where everyone comes to make their dreams come true: Los Angeles. I never really came with a big dream though. That’s probably because my big dream in life was to get out of my hometown. Which is also probably why I have no idea what I’m doing with my life, but I digress. Meeting people born and raised in and around LA, I’m quite jealous to say the least. They have always been a part of this wonderful, ridiculously versatile city. And I am brand new. But while I make it well known, just how much I hate my hometown, I’m grateful my family raised me there. Because after three years, although I’ve adopted a few LA behaviors (especially when behind the wheel), I’m still in awe of the huge freeways, the uber-tall buildings, being so close to the beach, the culture, the people, the traffic, everything. I suppose coming from such a small town allows me to appreciate living in a city. There are countless buildings above 14 stories, over five movie theaters within walking distance, two huge malls with parking structures just down the street, and that’s just what I can count from the roof of my apartment building. To me, the city just never ceases to amaze me. And I hope it never does.
But, traffic still sucks big donkey balls.

For Jess.

With an absentee father and a manic depressive mother, her next choice was to turn to God. So she did. Becoming quite involved with the church with people she thought were truly good people, she began to think that maybe she could create the family she continually prayed for. But at times, especially when you’re a young girl in a small conservative town, when it feels as though praying just isn’t enough, vocalizing this feeling means having the common and horrible opportunity to be judged by the entire community. What people don’t realize when they have insanely strong conviction in their faith, is the amount of judgment they place on people, as well as how much this judgment negatively affects others.
It tore this young girl apart. She felt no ties or obligations to her family since they had never shown any to her. The church did not feel remotely familial nor welcoming any longer. And her so-called friends didn’t seem to have the ability nor the maturity to understand her frustrations with her life. Moreover, she didn’t feel the need to have to explain herself to anyone. Especially since explaining would merely jog her memory and force her to remember why she felt so shitty all the time in the first place.
But lucky her, she was still hopeful enough to believe her situation could get better. And even luckier, she got to fall in love. However, nothing is perfect and her falling in love was no where near it. Because she was so young at the time, and he was much older, people on the outside assumed the worst. They thought that he was just taking advantage of her, that since the law didn’t approve their relationship it had to be wrong. But if outsiders were so concerned in regards to the intricacies of their relationship why couldn’t they ask the participants in the relationship about them? It is because when we don’t understand something it’s much easier to reject it than to accept it. Because doing the latter forces us to simultaneously accept our naivète.
Eventually, she was able to find friends that accepted and understood her. And while they didn’t quite understand all of her, their constant love and acceptance was all she could ever hope for. These friends would be the people to help her through the most trying times of her life. (As if her childhood and teen years weren’t trying enough.) They would see her through having to break her first love’s heart only to have her own heart broken. Through celebrating independence to the great struggle with the responsibilities that came with it. She would make it through whatever life threw at her. And while others would breakdown, she would paint a smile on her face and pretend that everything was fine, hoping that soon it would no longer have to be an act. ‘We never let them see us cry,’ she had always said. And to the best of her ability, she insured this was so.

Farewell.

I’m not going to be what you wanted me to be. I’m not going to be a famous actress in a foreign country. I’m not going to be a doctor. I’m not going to be a high profile investment banker. I’m not going to be a lawyer working 100-hour weeks.
In all honesty, I have no idea what I’m going to be. But I know that after I do this for you, after I finish doing what I absolutely hate, what I’ve been doing for over fifteen years and I get the degree that you’ve made me believe was so essential to my life, I’m going to go away for a while. Even further this time.
And please don’t feel bad and think that it’s because I want to get away from you. Because honestly, this time, it has nothing to do with that. And please don’t be sad, although I know that that’s probably inevitable, because I will come back and I will be fine. I need to leave the city that I’ve fallen so madly in love with for a while. I simply need to get away. I need to see what else I can do. I need to help others to know for sure that my life isn’t the worst there is. I need to find out what the hell I’m doing with my life. I need to find out for sure what I CAN be to know without question that I can become whatever that is, and know that it is what I was born to be. I know that, that will not happen in my beautiful, fabulous city. So I know that I need to leave.
I know that you and everyone else in my life expected really great things from me. And I know that everyone still expects a certain level of excellence when it comes to anything I do. But to be honest, living up to other people’s phenomenal expectations, is no real way to live, much less be happy. It’s actually quite exhausting. And I am exhausted. I really wish I wasn’t. I really wish that I could be what you want me to be, and achieve everything you expect me to. But as disrespectful as you may think it is to say such things, this is MY life. At the end of the day, I have to live with myself. And if I perpetually force myself to try to be what you want, I won’t be able to live with myself.
I’m sorry I can’t be what you think you need me to be. I’m sorry that you worked so hard in order for me to have a life that you think is ideal. I’m sorry that you probably feel like I am ungrateful for all your hard work and for everything you have done for me. But I have worked hard too. I have dedicated my life to trying to become whatever it was that I thought you wanted. But no matter how hard I try, it’s to no avail. So I have realized that I have to be what I want to be.
So please, don’t try to stop me from leaving. Please don’t try to make me stay by making me feel guilty or otherwise. Please love me enough and be strong enough to let me go away. Let me be completely by myself. Let me struggle. Let me fall. And please let me pick myself back up. I know it will hurt you. I know that you will want to do things for me, just as you always have tried to. But I do not need that from you now. I need this. I simply need to leave. And I need you to be okay with me needing to do this. You are the rock and the biggest inspiration in my life. I’m not sure you will ever know just how much I love you despite what I made you believe. So please, let me go. I love you. Goodbye.

For Brenda & Michael.

She realized that she was definitely the worst person to ever attempt to complete a crossword puzzle. But that wasn’t her huge epiphany of the day. For she had always known she was terrible at crossword puzzles, and therefore hardly attempted them. The huge epiphany had something to do with friendship and friends’ ability to get you through anything.
She had just spent a long night/day (about fourteen hours beginning at around 5AM but who was really keeping track?) in the emergency room with a thin blue curtain as the only divider between another patient and the friend she was with. The other patient’s case was much more severe and the news his family received was quite awful to say the least. The entire neurology and cardiology department made their rounds to deliver their assessments to his family; it was that bad. Michael (she inevitably came to know the names of her temporary neighbors after hours of eavesdropping) had been diagnosed with prostate cancer a few years ago. Earlier that day, after attending his monthly check-up at his oncologist’s office, Michael had suffered a massive stroke. The worst news was that neither the neurologists, cardiologists, or oncologists believed he’d make it for any significant period of time, nor did he have a chance of even waking up from his present state. His brother and his wife, Brenda, were with him through the night and first thing in the morning, a friend of Michael and Brenda’s came to the hospital. She took care of everything she could. Including, but absolutely not limited to, arranging rides for out-of-state and out-of-country family from the airport, all the meals for the day, and calling her personal travel agent to confirm arrangements for the family. She did everything she possibly could to make sure Brenda and Michael’s brother could focus on Michael.
That’s exactly what friends do. If nothing else they’ll just be there for you. And a lot of the time, that is so much more than we could ever hope for.

When Brenda and Michael’s friend tried to lighten the mood saying, “Well at the very least you know you two had a good run.” Brenda replied without any hesitation, “No, we had a great run.” ‘Now that,’ she thought to herself, ‘is love.’

To write.

She watched the sunset and wanted to cry. A father flies a kite with his son, lovers young and old meet and hide amongst the hanging branches and thick brush, the mist or fog or low flying clouds created an effect on the Malibu hills that made it look so picturesque or she would even say ethereal, if she was into that sort of thing. The whole scene was something seen only in romantic comedies. And then there was the ocean. Oh she would be so happy and content with her life if she could just sit for the rest of her life and stare at the ocean. To sit and contemplate the vast power of it, or the way the water brings smiles to children and adults alike in its way of tickling one’s feet or surprising one with its temperature. Or the way the sunlight reflected off the water, almost making one believe that there were two suns setting coming to meet each other at the horizon.
But contemplating simple beauties of the world does not issue a paycheck. Nor does it provide a socially acceptable education. Two things that were of constant concern for her. So she wrote. About love and the question of its existence, loss and heartache of which seemed to have a constant place in her life, confusion which came as a terrible by-product of youth slowly dissipating and transforming into adulthood, and friendship the only thing that seemed to make sense to her most of the time. She wrote to remember and in some ways to forget, but mostly to try and accept and understand why she was dealt the hand she held, and tried to figure out the rules of the game. ‘Everything’s so difficult,’ she often thought about it all, almost always followed with thoughts of defeat and failure. But as much as she, and she was sure everyone else had to, feel this way at one point or another, she couldn’t quit. It didn’t matter how bad she wanted to, she refused. Re-strategize was what she had to do, as difficult and unfeasible as it seemed. Because while there is so much pain and desperation and suffering in the world, there is also much beauty. And as terrible as days and nights and months and years can become, the sun always rises with the hope of something better. There are good days. Though there seem to be very few in comparison with the bad, they do exist. So with this thought, she rose from her perfect spot with the perfect view. She went on to once again attempt to accept that though she couldn’t just sit at her spot to watch and appreciate the beauty and grace and power of such things as the ocean forever, she could at least pause and visit. And maybe even once in a while, write.

Don't Ask.

Everyone always asks if you’re “okay.” She hated it. Every time someone new found out what happened they’d call or show up unannounced just to make sure she was “okay.” Frankly, it made her want to vomit. Of course she wasn’t okay, of course it took all of her physical, mental, and emotional strength just to get out of bed, and of course she was still very hurt, and very upset. Then people would always follow the “okay” question with phrases of condolences including but not limited to: “You’re better off without him. He didn’t deserve you. He was always an awful man.” And her favorite: “Well you look great! Considering…” None of it made her feel better, not even after constant repetition of the same things. But because she knew that it made everyone else feel better (and it was actually nice to have company when she was completely honest with herself) she permitted the visits. But the one person who she wanted to tell the most, needed to tell the most, wasn’t any one of the visits.
Tess was in New York, thousands of miles away. And she made sure that she wouldn’t find out about anything that had happened until absolutely necessary. Her baby sister was finally happy. After years of more than just a mere unsatisfying home life, and of trying to figure herself out, she had finally found herself on the right track. She had her career, her fiance, and everything else she had ever wanted. With the wedding just weeks away, the last thing she wanted was to put a damper on what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.
He was still supposed to be in the wedding, Tess’s special request to have a representative of a “happy couple.” Because she didn’t want anything to ruin her baby sister’s special day, she made damn sure he’d still be there. He owed her this, (among a pretty hefty laundry list of other things she could thing of) at least this much, for certain.
College sweethearts. Except she never really got to finish college since they married so young, and someone had to support the two of them when he was in med school. But she had offered, volunteered. He was the love of her life, her best friend in the world, and so she was completely willing to sacrifice her dreams for his. He was the only man she had ever been with, the father of her children, the only investment she had ever made thinking that it was completely sound. All she kept thinking was, how could he do this to me? Eleven years of marriage, two years of dating, a one year engagement, (a total of fourteen years together) two beautiful children, and nothing to show for it? How the fuck could he do this to me?

Big Cities.

I watch Dawson's Creek for quotes like this:

"In a city like New York where everything is moving all the time at this constant driving pace, it’s like this living organism breathing and changing, and over time your relationship to it becomes like this incredible romance. At first its intoxicating, irresistible then slowly it becomes comfortable and safe, you have this cellular connection to it as if you’ve known each other forever like your oldest happiness. And sometimes you’re on the outs, and sometimes you’re making up. And every now and then you catch yourself in this transcendent moment when you think to yourself , 'Oh my God I’m madly in love with you, and I always will be.'

If only it was that easy to feel that way about a person rather than a beautiful city.

Stay tuned for more fictional entertainment.